


lay my body down

by cosmicbees



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Life, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, literally the lightest angst possible...blink and you miss it, shared showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees
Summary: shiro works too hard, keith misses his husbandAbove all else, Shiro loves Keith.He feels compelled to say as much, and presses the words into Keith’s mouth, hoping that the drag of his lips will drive it home. In daylight and in darkness, Shiro always loves these things about Keith, but he misses them, too. The desperation he can taste on Keith’s tongue, and that which he can feel in the heartbeat beneath his fingertips, mingles with the remorse coursing through his own body.“Sorry,” Shiro breathes into the space between their mouths.“Make it up to me,” Keith says.





	lay my body down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirinokisu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirinokisu/gifts).



> happy (ahhh belated) sheithlentines! 
> 
> ju asked for domestic sheith, and married life!

“Come to bed.” 

Keith’s voice is quiet from the doorway of Shiro’s office, where he stands rubbing a tired hand across his face. Already dressed down for the night, an over-large t-shirt falling down to his thighs, and sitting crooked across his neck, he’s a vision in white against the dark wood of the door frame. Even in the dim lighting, Keith looks tired, eyes ringed by shadow. Shiro wants to go with Keith, to follow him into bed and into sleep, but his gaze flickers down to the stack of documents in front of him. He’s hardly been able to make a dent into them over the last couple of hours, regardless of the work he’s been putting in, diligently filling out form after form. 

“I need to finish these reports,” Shiro sighs, looking back up to Keith, who inches into the room, closer to the sprawl of papers across Shiro’s desk. 

“Finish them in the morning,” Keith says, “they can wait.”

Shiro follows Keith’s movement, each step slower than the next as he crosses to Shiro’s desk. When Keith stops beside him, hand resting gentle on his shoulder, Shiro says, “Iverson expects them on his desk by tomorrow morning.” 

“Iverson can wait,” Keith counters. His words are careful, tumbling from his lips in a way that is almost halting. “I miss you.” 

“Oh,” Shiro blinks, “babe I’m sorry.” 

Again, Keith says, “come to bed,” but this time he reaches down to brush his fingers across Shiro’s jaw, tilting his head up and to the side so that he can slot their mouths together.

“M’tired of falling asleep alone,” Keith murmurs into Shiro’s mouth, dragging his lips up to the highest point of Shiro’s cheekbone, until they come to rest against his temple. “Tired of waking up alone. I miss you.” 

Guilt rises high in Shiro’s throat. He spins his office chair so that he’s facing Keith, and settles his hands on the sharp curves of Keith’s hips, tugging him in close. Forehead pressed to Keith’s chest, and hands pushing up the thin fabric of his husband’s t-shirt, Shiro mumbles an apology into the space between them. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Keith says, “I just wanted to see you.” 

With that, he moves his own hands to Shiro’s shoulders, pushing him back until his back is pressed to the chair, and clambers into his lap, legs spread wide over Shiro’s thighs. 

Shiro chuckles, letting a hand slip beneath Keith’s shirt, and trails it up the warm expanse of his skin until Keith shivers under his touch. “Missed you too.” 

Keith grabs Shiro’s face at that, palms pressed against his ears, fingers tangling into his hair, and lunges forward to lock them into a kiss again. He’s firm, holding Shiro in place and sighing in between little pecks that he presses to his lips, his cheek, even one to his forehead. 

“Keith, c’mon,” Shiro laughs, tilting his head up in search of  _ more _ . 

Keith obliges–he always does–and kisses Shiro hard. Just this side of desperate when he drags his teeth across Shiro’s bottom lip, biting his way into Shiro’s mouth and soothing over it with a gentle tongue. He swallows the little sounds that Shiro lets huff out of him, the little whines in the back of his throat swept up by Keith’s enthusiasm. 

Shiro loves this about Keith. Loves that every kiss somehow feels like the first, all raw thrill and hunger laced with laughter, smirks and smiles pressed into one another’s necks. Loves that even with that, each kiss is somehow better than the last. Loves the way that Keith clings to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his face, any part of his body on which he can find purchase. Above all else, Shiro loves Keith. 

He feels compelled to say as much, and presses the words into Keith’s mouth, hoping that the drag of his lips will drive it home. In daylight and in darkness, Shiro always loves these things about Keith, but he misses them, too. The desperation he can taste on Keith’s tongue, and that which he can feel in the heartbeat beneath his fingertips, mingles with the remorse coursing through his own body. 

“Sorry,” Shiro breathes into the space between their mouths.

“Make it up to me,” Keith says. Shiro doesn’t even eke out the question ‘ _ how’ _ before Keith rolls his hips, grinding down against him, and smiles against his lips, “show me you’re sorry.” 

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, fitting his hands around Keith’s waist. Shiro can feel the movements of Keith’s muscles beneath his fingertips, shifting under his skin as he presses himself down against Shiro again. He’s already hard. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

Keith leans over Shiro, and tugs on the pull chain for his lamp. When it shuts off with a little  _ click _ , Keith is cast in pale blue moonlight, creeping in from window. 

The lines of his face look softer like this, blurred by shadow and the dark of the night, and Shiro reaches out to run his thumb across the swell of Keith’s bottom lip. There’s wonder in his eyes as he looks up at Keith, his skin nearly the same cool blue color as the cold metal of Shiro’s fingers as they brush across his face.

“Hang on,” He murmurs, wrapping his other arm around Keith’s body. Keith understands in an instant, curling his legs around Shiro’s waist and clasping his hands behind Shiro’s head when Shiro stands, hoisting Keith up with him. 

“Show off,” Keith laughs, his face tucked into Shiro’s neck. 

“Maybe so,” Shiro agrees, maneuvering through the living room and into their little bathroom. Even a day of relative inactivity, shuffling between meetings and locked in his office, has left Shiro desperate for a shower, as much to ease the stiffness of his muscles as it is to wash himself clean.

He sets Keith down on the counter, but when he tries to pull back, Keith sinks his teeth into the skin at the junction of Shiro’s shoulder and neck. 

“No,” he hisses, pulling Shiro in closer. 

“I’ve gotta shower,” Shiro says, but Keith still holds on tight, mouthing at the bite mark on Shiro’s neck. 

“I’m tired,” Keith presses the words against the tender skin under his tongue, whispers them into the space behind Shiro’s ear. “Take me to bed.” 

“Is it okay if I shower?” Shiro asks gently, smoothing his hand down the length of Keith’s spine. There’s a heavy warmth building in the pit of his stomach, coiling around the base of his spine and working its way up to his chest, but it wars with the tension in his shoulders. “I know you’re tired, baby, but I need to shower.” 

Keith leans back so that Shiro can tug his shirt up and over his head, before he leans in to brush his fingers across Shiro’s stomach, tucking them into the waistband of his pants. He’s twisted his face into a frown, too much of a caricature to be authentic, but there’s a twinkle of mischief in Keith’s eyes when he slips his hands further into Shiro’s pants. When he speaks the words are long and drawn out, melodramatic, “you’ve already made me wait so long.”

“You can join me if you want,” Shiro lets out a soft smile in understanding, and tilts his head down to watch as Keith fiddles with the button of his trousers, working the zipper down. Keith hums, and pushes Shiro back so that he can hop off of the counter himself, pulling his own shirt off, all the while keeping an eagle eyed stare on Shiro as he undresses. 

The shower is too hot, enough to draw a hiss out of Shiro as he steps into the scalding steam of it, but Keith follows him in an instant later. The slick press of Keith’s skin against his own is enough to soothe the burn of the water, a few degrees cooler where his hands grip at Shiro’s face, tilting it down so that he can kiss him deeper, more thoroughly. The spread of his thighs, held open by the knee that Keith has wedged between them makes Shiro feel unsteady, despite the chill of the tile pressed to his back, holding him up as much as his own feet are. 

“I missed you,” Keith mutters, “you need to work less.” 

Shiro sighs into the feeling of Keith reaching between them, taking Shiro’s cock in hand, “I know.” 

“I missed  _ this _ ,” Keith says, curling his hand on the upstroke, brushing his thumb over the head.

Shiro understands. “Us.” 

“Us,” Keith agrees, the word hardly a sigh, nearly lost into the sound of water beating down against them. 

Weeks of work have caught up with him, a bone-deep exhaustion being all that he knows. Early mornings, late nights, reports and paperwork, and he’s hardly had time to kiss Keith in the morning. Soft pecks pressed to Keith’s forehead while he sleeps in their bed, the comforter pulled up to his chin while the first vestiges of sunlight peer in from behind the curtains, He slips into bed alongside him long after the sun has set, the moon standing high overhead in its stead.

Shiro misses Keith too. He feels so much in this moment; he wants this to last.

“Hang on,” Shiro mutters, reaching down to still Keith’s hand. Keith opens his mouth to say something, but Shiro swallows the words down with a kiss. “Wanna do this right.” 

Keith nods, understanding flickering across his face, and he moves his hands elsewhere, up and away to brush wet hair from in front of Shiro’s eyes. 

They shower in silence, and Shiro marvels at the curves of Keith’s body, strength and muscle shaped by necessity and hard hours of training. They work soap over one another, limbs heavy with exhaustion and touching each other with tired hands. Shared soap and shared water. 

Shiro finally reaches over Keith’s shoulder to shut the flow of water off when Keith’s touch starts to wander again, fingers finding their way over the planes of his chest, and dipping below his hips. 

“Come on,” Keith whines, tugging Shiro out of the cooling steam, and bundling them into the bedroom. Shiro falls back against the mattress with a little laugh, as Keith crawls over his body impatiently, pushing him up towards the headboard. They’re both still wet, little droplets of water falling into Shiro’s eyes as Keith leans in to kiss him again. 

Keith presses Shiro to the bed, leaning over to find the little bottle of lube they keep stuffed in the bedside drawer. With a low  _ snap _ Keith coats his fingers. Shiro watches as Keith reaches behind himself to work a finger in, but when he reaches out to help, Keith pushes his hand away with a little huff. 

“I’ve got it,” Keith mutters, mouth falling open as he presses a second finger in beside the first.

“Let me help,” Shiro says, firmer this time, but the guilt creeps back up in his throat in place of the laughter from a moment ago. Keith has waited this long, and Shiro’s shower pushed him to impatience. “I thought you wanted me to make it up to you?”  

Keith shakes his head before letting it fall forward, chin brushing his chest as he works himself open. Shiro can only watch, fingers desperate to touch, but too caught up in the sight of Keith swept up in a simple pleasure. 

“Been thinking about this all week,” Keith mumbles, a little gasp tumbling out at the end of the sentence. 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, letting his hands settle onto Keith’s waist. Keith doesn’t swat his touch away this time, letting Shiro guide little rolls of his hips as he grinds down against his fingers. 

“Mmm,” Keith hums. A moment passes, and Shiro goads him on by sweeping little circles against Keith’s hips with his thumbs. “Kept thinking about getting you into bed tonight, and–ah–and letting me ride you.” 

Shiro chuckles, “I thought you were tired.” 

“Saved my energy for this,” Keith answers. It’s a joke, mostly, but there’s an edge of truth to the words as well that cuts close to Shiro’s heart. The thought of Keith waiting in bed, on the verge of sleep, for Shiro to trudge in on tired feet so that he could take him to pieces is too much for words.

“I’m glad,” is all he can say. Shiro lets one hand drift up to brush across Keith’s collarbone, to his face, and pulls him in close.

Keith sighs into the kiss, but leans back again after a moment, hands sprawled across Shiro’s chest to brace himself. “You work too hard,” he says.

“What else can I do?” Shiro sighs, fingers wrapping around Keith’s wrists. 

“Let me,” Keith shrugs, tugging his hands out of Shiro’s grasp, and moving aside. Shiro tilts his head to the side, eyebrows raised in question, and Keith runs a hand, slick with lube, over Shiro’s cock, before he throws a leg back over Shiro’s hips, lining the head up. He sinks down slowly, and grits out, “let me do the work for once.” 

A low curse spills out of Shiro’s lips, and he grabs onto Keith’s hips again. A throaty laugh falls from Keith as he reaches out to brace himself, hands falling on the curve of Shiro’s neck before he moves in for a kiss. 

Keith hands are pressed to Shiro’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones in time to the rolls of Keith’s hips. Clinging to Shiro like he’s something precious, Keith sets the pace. He’s tired, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his forehead to Shiro’s, bringing him in for a lazy kiss–thorough, as always, but the drag of Keith’s tongue is languid. 

Shiro loves him. 

He says so to Keith, mumbling the words as his hands slide to Keith’s ass, palms pressed to hot skin. “You’re so good to me, baby.” 

“Love you too, Shiro,” Keith sighs, “al- _ fuck _ . Always.”

Shiro loves everything about Keith, always, but in this moment, this is what Shiro loves most: 

Keith taking himself to pieces slowly, determined to lose himself as he grinds down against Shiro;

Breathless giggles pressed against each other’s mouths, lost somewhere between tiny moans and the sound of skin on skin;

When the kiss, the slide of tongues and teeth, turns into shared breath, the two of them panting into one another’s mouths, too distracted by pleasure to let it evolve any further;

And above all else, Shiro loves the way that Keith’s hips stutter when he comes, Shiro’s hand wrapped around him, and the cut-off cry that he buries into Shiro’s neck, muffled into the blossoming bruise his teeth left earlier. 

Clinging to Shiro like he is something precious, their bodies pressed tight together, chest to chest, Keith grinds down harder against him. Whispering senselessly into his ear, Keith goads Shiro on until the heat building in his stomach spills over, and he comes with a whine. Keith swallows the sound down in a kiss, stilling his motions only when Shiro reaches for his waist. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Shiro says, brushing a hand through Keith’s hair. He quashes down a little thread of guilt in the back of his mind, and says, “I promise I’ll make it up to you next time.”

With a shake of his head, Keith laughs. “I can’t believe you.”

“Can’t believe how much I love you?” 

“Shut up,” Keith laughs, shoving at Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro grabs at his hands, lacing their fingers together and dragging them up to his lips. He presses a kiss to each of Keith’s knuckles while Keith watches with awe.

“Hang on,” Keith mutters, lifting himself off of Shiro. “I’ll be right back.” 

Keith disappears for just a moment, emerging from the bathroom with a warm washcloth. He cleans the both of them up with a gentle touch, kissing Shiro intermittently, just a little peck here and there as he wipes him down, waiting for the cloth to grow cold. 

“C’mere,” Shiro finally tugs Keith in, pulling the rag from his hand and tossing it aside.

“Hey!” Keith’s huff is indignant, but there’s a smile across his face, “I take care of you, and this is the thanks I get?” 

Shiro sighs, pulling the comforter up and over them, keeping Keith tucked in close to his chest. Keith’s nose brushes across the underside of Shiro’s jaw when he leans in to place a kiss on Shiro’s neck.

“You really do work too hard.” 

“I know,” Shiro takes a moment to appreciate the stick of Keith’s skin against his own, the way that his hair tickles the underside of his chin. 

Keith’s eyes peer up at him, appraising Shiro through a veil of still-damp black hair. “I love you anyway, though.” 

Shiro snorts. It’s graceless, but he can feel the smile that Keith presses against his skin. He’s struck dumb by love, lost for words. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, finally, when Keith stills beneath his touch, chest rising and falling slowly as he slips into sleep. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I owe my life to [sarah ailurea](https://twitter.com/ailurea) and [spooky](https://twitter.com/spooky_foot) for being phenomenal cheerleaders, friends, and betas
> 
>  
> 
> pop in and say hey on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove) or see if im available on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/)!


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